


I don't know how to do this

by ilfirin_estel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, drunk!Castiel, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/pseuds/ilfirin_estel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel had thought alcohol would make him feel better about the inevitability of falling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't know how to do this

Castiel is drunk. He measures the veracity of that statement by how fast the motel room is spinning. He would really like for it to stop doing that because he does not want to add vomiting to his growing list of human experiences.

That being said, he would also like the Winchesters to return from wherever they are because… _because._ He would think of a better reason, but the spinning is distracting even from where he is right now—which is lying prone on the carpet, fingers digging into the green material. It smells like stale smoke. Cigarettes.

Castiel wants very much to be next to Dean right now. He wants to tell Dean that this coping mechanism—using alcohol as a coping mechanism—is really not as satisfying as he was led to believe.

He had thought it would make him feel better about the inevitability of falling. But really all the drinking has done so far has made Castiel feel worse. It hasn’t solved anything. He’s still losing his grace, he’s still losing his wings, he’s still losing everything that makes him a valuable ally to the Winchesters. He wishes he was a speck of dust in this filthy building. Pretty soon he will be just as useful.

What’s going to happen when he’s no longer useful to Dean, Castiel wonders, staring at the darkness under the bed. Darkness sounds peaceful right now. Sounds like oblivion. That’s what he wanted. Nothingness. Is sleep like that? He thinks he might like sleep if it means that everything stops. Even if it’s only for a few hours.

He’ll look forward to sleep, then. Since he’s almost reached the point where this fragile human body will require it.

This whole falling business is as exhausting as it is frustrating.

The sound of the door opening is incredibly loud to Castiel’s ears. He thinks that if Dean were in his position, he’d tell the noise to fuck off. So that’s what he does. “Fuck off.” The words are smothered by the carpet. Fucking carpet.

“Jesus-fuck, _Cas?_ ”

Oh hello, Dean. Dean’s hands are on him, gripping him carefully. Cas squeezes his eyes shut as Dean manhandles him onto his back. All this sudden movement is not helping his sense of equilibrium.

“I’m—” Castiel begins, the word _fine_ on the tip of his tongue, but there’s no sense in lying about his state of mind, so he settles with the truth. “—drunk.”

“I can see that,” is Dean’s reply, sounding very tired. “Let me guess, you found another liquor store and drank it.”

Castiel keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Dean’s eyes. It just occurred to him that showing up here in the boys’ motel room in this state makes him an unwelcome burden.

“I thought perhaps I didn’t drink enough last time,” he lamely tries to explain.

“To do what?”

Castiel wishes he could disappear, but he’s positive he is too drunk to move, let alone fly anywhere. Dean sighs. His hand is running through Castiel’s hair. The sensation is as surprising as it is pleasurable. Castiel isn’t sure what to do to ensure that Dean continues.

“I’ve really fucked you up, haven’t I,” Dean says quietly. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me.”

Castiel decides to open his eyes. Thankfully, the room is no longer spinning. Unthankfully, Dean is staring down at him with enough guilt to drown the world.

He wants to say something to make that look disappear, but _in vino veritas_ : “I could stand it if I didn’t think I was losing you too.”

Dean’s eyes go very wide at that. He jerks back so that he’s no longer touching Cas. Cas tries to reach for Dean’s hand, but grabs his wrist instead.

_Forget it,_ he’s about to say. _Ignore me. I’m a mess._ But Dean speaks first. “What do you mean? You’re not losing me to anything.”

This is the last thing that Castiel wants to talk about, drunk or sober. There’s no reason why he needs to explain this to Dean. It must be common knowledge that Castiel loves Dean, that he’s loved him since he saw the brightness of his soul in Hell. But Castiel knows the other facts just as well.

_Cas, I need you to do this; Cas, I need you to do that—Cas, where have you been, I’ve been calling you for hours, I need information from you…_

“When I’m no longer an angel, you’re not going to need me anymore.” Castiel is vaguely proud that the words sound flat to his ears, free from the grief he feels. However, he’s sure that his next words ruin it: “I’m still trying to accept that. I’ll need a little more time.”

He doesn’t know what he expected Dean’s reaction to be, but the hurt that ripples across Dean’s face is certainly a surprise. “That’s what you think?” Dean cups Castiel’s face between his palms. Castiel’s breath hitches; his cheeks feel warm. “Cas, I don’t think of you as some sort of _tool._ You’re—you’re a _person._ I don’t care if you’re fallen or not. I’m not going to fuck off and _leave_ you.”

“I love you,” Cas says. All the liquor loosened his tongue; the admission is painfully honest.

Dean leans in closer and presses his lips to Castiel’s forehead. Cas hears a tiny choked sob—it takes a minute for him to realize it came from his own throat.

“Love you too, idiot.” Dean moves back, and the smile on his face is small, but real. “Now let’s get some water in you, okay?”


End file.
